


Talking About Love Is Like Knitting About Dancing

by olderbynow



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Dancing, Gen, Knitting, Where did the angst go?, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 21:34:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7987018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olderbynow/pseuds/olderbynow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dottie knits, Miss Fisher dances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talking About Love Is Like Knitting About Dancing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Whilenotwriting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whilenotwriting/gifts).



> For the lovely Whilenotwriting - a fic instead of a birthday hug. There's a shocking lack of angst, but at least there's a bit of knitting so I hope you'll forgive this un-Scandinavian bit of fluff. :)

It’s lucky she’s only knitting a sock the first time it happens, because she drops both needles and loses something like three stitches.

Miss Fisher told her earlier that evening that she might be ‘dancing’ tonight, just as a warning, a little wink and an excited twinkle in her eye at the prospect, and even Dottie wasn’t naive enough to think that she was actually talking about improving her tango. (Which, although she’s hardly an expert, Dottie’s pretty sure is already very good, judging from the reaction to her performance at Mrs. Andrews’ a few weeks ago.)

So Dottie isn’t surprised, really, but she hadn’t realised that dancing could be so… loud.

She stays in her room, finishing that pair of socks and starting on a cardigan for her sister, only falling asleep when the whole house has been dark and quiet for an hour.

When she goes downstairs for breakfast the next morning Mr. Butler’s in the kitchen, preparing a tray of food for Miss Fisher, and if he knows about the dancing he doesn’t let on at all. Miss Fisher doesn’t make an appearance until just before noon, cheerful and refreshed, and if she notices the slight blush creeping up Dottie’s cheeks as she greets her, she doesn’t let on at all, either.

*

In the kitchen Mr. Butler’s boiling rice and frying things Dottie doesn’t recognise. The dinner table has been set for Chinese food, and Dottie eyes the chopsticks suspiciously and retires to her room for an evening of knitting. There’s no sound of steps on the stairs, however, and when she creeps down to the kitchen to get a mug of cocoa, she sees the inspector in the dining room with Miss Fisher instead of Mr. Lin, him focused on a typewriter ribbon and her transcribing what he’s reading.

She heads back upstairs, fairly certain there won’t be any dancing tonight.

*

Dottie has finished her sister’s cardigan as well as a jumper for her brother, and is working on a blanket for her cousin’s new baby (Her mother said she’s carrying like it’ll be a boy, but Dottie’s not adding the coloured decorative stitching until after it’s born, just in case, after Dr. Mac heard this theory and rolled her eyes and muttered something into her scotch that had Miss Fisher laughing for almost a minute) when she hears the sound of music playing downstairs.

It sounds foreign and exotic to her ears, the sort of music that’ll put you in a much better mood than she suspects Father O’Leary would condone. There’s the sound of feet stomping, laugher and occasionally a word spoken at a louder volume drifting upstairs from the parlour.

When she hears two sets of feet on the stairs she carries on knitting, telling herself she’s used to the dancing by now, and it doesn’t bother her one bit. (And it doesn’t _bother_ her, as such, but even after all this time she can still feel her ears turning red at the thought of it.)

*

Dottie’s knitting furiously, trying to come up with a way to explain this to Father O’Leary on Sunday. A seance and talking to dead people and a murder in the cemetery! And now Miss Fisher’s dancing again; and while Dottie will _not_ be bringing that up in the Confessional (strictly speaking, she’s not the one who’s sinning) she does wonder about the wisdom of it as she starts on the other sleeve of a dress for her cousin’s new daughter. (So much for ‘carrying low’.)

When Mr. Hamilton is brought in for questioning she feels oddly justified, even if he eventually turns out to be innocent. At least he was suspect enough for Inspector Robinson to be wary as well.

*

Hugh’s scarf is nearly finished (Honestly, burning his footy scarf? What was he thinking? Not that she minds knitting him a new one) when she realises she has made it through a cardigan, a pair of booties and a vest and Miss Fisher hasn’t danced once.

Tonight she’s in the parlour with the inspector, discussing the case and probably drinking whiskey and most likely flirting, but definitely not dancing.

*

Dottie’s knitting a sweater for Hugh, trying not to smile at his disappointment about Vernon Palmer Jr. not doing any of the dangerous stunts himself - although, of course, he turned out _not_ to be Mr. Palmer at all, and perfectly capable of doing all his own stunts - when she hears the unmistakable sounds of dancing from Miss Fisher’s bedroom.

She focuses more intently on the pattern - she’s trying to copy something she saw in _Cinema Romance_ \- and does her best to ignore the noise, hoping it’ll end soon. (Sometimes it does, very soon, and even if the details are a bit hazy to her, she has noticed a pattern - Miss Fisher’s mood the next morning slightly less excellent on those occasions than others - which would suggest that although Dottie prefers the noise to not go on for any longer than absolutely necessary, Miss Fisher disagrees.)

The sweater’s done, the pattern not exactly like the one in the magazine but very nice all the same, before she sees Miss Fisher again. Mr. Hirsch is there as well, with a lot of equipment from the studio, and the inspector talking into a microphone.

The inspector stays for a nightcap and Miss Fisher’s done dancing for now.

*

Dottie’s knitting a cap for Mary’s baby and trying to distract herself from the horrible things that have happened in the past days. Or, the horrible things that have been happening for a long time, but have finally been stopped now, which makes her feel better, along with the sight of that new life sleeping downstairs.

She can just barely hear the sound of someone knocking on the door, and she wonders who it might be this late in the evening until the inspector’s voice drifts up the stairs. Hopefully he’ll manage to cheer up Miss Fisher, who has been more subdued than normal this evening, and not quite as thrilled about the resolution of this case as Dottie would’ve expected her to be.

Just a few minutes later she hears Mrs. Stanley and then the sound of the baby crying, and not long after that Miss Fisher coming upstairs and retiring to her bedroom.

Dottie finishes the cap with a furrow in her brow, but when she sees Miss Fisher the next morning she’s back to her usual cheerful self, her smile only fading when Mary starts changing the baby’s diaper in front of her.

*

Tonight, Dottie isn’t knitting. She’s at the circus, she suspects thoroughly got out of the way to make room for dinner and dancing. Mr. Butler has been in the kitchen all afternoon, and although Miss Fisher hasn’t actually said who will be dining with her, Dottie noticed that the inspector’s favourite gratin was on the menu for the evening. She smiles to herself as she settles in her seat.

When the show comes to an abrupt and gruesome end, she’s loath to call Miss Fisher but also knows it would be far worse not to do it, and she’s surprised to see her and the inspector arriving separately and very obviously not from the same dinner table. When Miss Fisher explains that she has a houseguest, Dot wonders if she misunderstood things completely and her sleuthing abilities are not actually as good as Miss Fisher has led her to believe, but then she notices the inspector’s sullen mood and decides that the misunderstanding was somewhere else.

*

Dottie walks into City South, carrying a basket with lunch for Hugh and the inspector prepared by Mr. Butler, as well as the knitting she’s working on at the moment, a cardigan for Miss Fisher, because knitting that for her somehow makes Dottie miss her a little bit less - and feel like she must come back soon.

Hugh is on the front desk, looking pleased but worried, and she has barely deposited the basket on the counter, before he whispers loudly: “He’s doing it. The inspector, he’s going to England. He bought the ticket and he’s at Russell Street right now.”

Dottie smiles at her husband. “That’s wonderful, Hugh.”

Hugh nods. “Yes. But… that means there’ll be a new inspector, at least for a while.” His eyes are wide and he looks so sweet, Dottie wants to lean in and kiss him. Thankfully she’s prevented from doing anything like that by the inspector walking into the station.

He stops next to her, eyeing the basket on the counter. “Do I smell gratin?” he asks, a smile on his face.

Dottie smiles back, now having to fight an impulse to hug _him_ and tell him well done. “Yes. Mr. Butler made it.” She doesn’t say “especially for you,” just busies herself emptying the basket of food, laying everything out on the counter.

Hugh and the inspector both look delighted, watching the dishes appear.

“Would you bring this with you for me, Inspector?” she asks, holding up her knitting at last.

He gives it a dubious look. “I’m not sure she’d know what to do with that.” No pretending they both don’t know where he’s going or who he’s talking about. The whole world probably knows, she thinks, or they should, from that excited look on his face.

She laughs lightly, trying to keep the blush out of her cheeks at what she’s about to say. “No. I mean, I’ll finish it, and then will you bring it? Tell her she can wear it in between the dancing.”


End file.
